


The stims of Will Graham

by BeesocksnKneesocks



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal NBC
Genre: Also hannibal and his damn suits, Asd!Will, Basically the au is not too different it's just Will stimming a LOT more, Blood mention later, Canon-Typical Violence, Hannibal is a show off and will is into it, I want will to be happy ok, It's not really a shipping thing, M/M, Platonic.... For now, Stimming, The stim toys are NOT sexual, They might fall in love later, This is basically gonna be about stimming, To clarify, Will is a tactile stimmer, Will is hella autistic, You can fight me on that, canon typical stuff, opera - Freeform, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:37:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7548094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesocksnKneesocks/pseuds/BeesocksnKneesocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has a rather embarrassing collection of stim toys. Hannibal discovers them. (well the title is already a spoiler)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pacifiers

**Author's Note:**

> Hi it's Kneesocks (my-queer-watson on tumblr) this ficlet was a lot of fun to write. There shall be more. Enjoy! Ps: please forgive me for the awkward spacing

It's not until several months have passed that Hannibal first enters Will's bedroom. It looks like he had genuinely expected it to look: messy, dark, but very plain. He's not surprised at the white, spherical lamp on Will's bedside table, the grey and beige bedding or the well-cleaned fluffy rug underneath the bed. 

What slightly suprises him though, are the heaps of pacifiers in various colours strewn about the room.  
While Will's still downstairs making tea, Hannibal picks up some of them and gathers them on top of Will's duvet. With his naked eye, he finds a handful, and various more underneath and on top of things. Some of them are plain - bigger, solid-coloured, made for adults specifically. The rest are a random assortment of cheap items in pastel colours or with patterns or pictures on the front part. They look like somebody has chewed on them for hours, and with the purpose of absolutely ruining them.

"Hi doctor -uhm -"  
Will pushes open the door and is startled at the image of his psychiatrist sitting on his haunches, neatly lining up his pacifiers. Hannibal turns towards him.  
"I apologise. I couldn't help it. They were scattered everywhere."   
Will clears his throat.  
"Please let me explain before you assume I'm into some sort of kinky shit and psychoanalyse me. Again."  
"I'm not judging you."  
Hannibal rises to his full height.  
Will feels embarrassingly small in front of Hannibal, even in his own home. There's something about tailored suits that makes him almost intimidating  
\- if not intimidatingly handsome. If he's completely honest, the difference in their appearances has always had an influence on their relationship; it has always emphasised the hierarchical structure of "doctor" and "patient". 

Will doesn't dress for aesthetics. He dresses for comfort and practicality in muddy somber colors that are not at all aggressive to look at, wears loose flannel and plain t-shirts. Hannibal seems to enjoy the sense of superiority he gets from dressing in expensive suits and tuxedos, displaying himself with the casual nonchalance of a peacock. He treats his body like the centrepiece of an exhibition, and Will is convinced that even at home, Hannibal wears three-piece suits exclusively.

"You aren't judging me?"  
Will huffs. His face is hot from embarrassment. Between words, he's still grinding his teeth.  
"Not at all,"  
Hannibal replies. His smile is typical, therapeutic, soft. Will has trouble recognizing whether it's genuine, too.  
"I was just wondering why they're scattered all over your bedroom floor."  
"The dogs. They like playing with them."  
Will inhales and exhales deeply, slowly beginning to relax.  
"Uhm...tea's done."  
He adds a bit awkwardly.  
"Thank you."  
Hannibal approaches him and places a hand on Will's shoulder.  
"There isn't anything you should be ashamed of, for your information. Just make sure to wash the ones your dogs play with."


	2. Keychains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With some more Hannibalesque vibes, we're introducing the readers to some more of Will's coping mechanisms and the charms of a certain psychiatrist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kneesocks here (again) this chapter is quite long, and quite different from the last one. I hope you enjoy it.

Will often carries small things around with him.   
Sometimes it's a marble, smooth and cold and round that he can feel when he runs his hand over his pockets mid-walk. Sometimes even three or four, so he can feel the cluster of hard glass under his fingertips even through the fabric of his jeans.  
Usually though, it's just his keychain: a bright green flat piece of soft plastic in the shape of a dog. He's taken out the metal key ring so it's just a dog-shaped piece of rubber that he can twist and bend and, when he's especially frustrated, bite into.  
He's never really acknowledged the existence of items whose sole purpose is stimming. It's not that he is ashamed of his disability rather than the fact that it inconveniences him in many aspects of his life, including work. Given his unusual amount of empathy, additional hypermepathy isn't really something he could imagine anyone would want. Sure, it benefits the FBI. Not necessarily him, though.

One afternoon, Jack takes him along in the car. He always gets picked up and chauffeured to a crime scene anyway, since nobody can guarantee that Will will leave it and be completely untouched by what he witnesses. They can't blame him.  
More often than not, he's disoriented and irritable and in no condition to drive himself. And nobody wants to risk losing the awkward guy that can think like a killer.

Now, on a Wednesday at 3.23 p.m.,Will finds himself staring at his feet, his eyes damp and glazed.   
The body is sprawled out before him again, looking as grotesque as it did when he arrived there half an hour ago. He twitches and stumbles back against the wall when he realises that he has stepped into the victim's blood. It feels sticky on his soles all the way through his boots. A dull ache is somewhere in his head, like a migraine creeping its way into his brain.  
From the corner of his eye, he sees Jack glance at him worriedly. He doesn't always express his concern directly, but Will knows that he would feel personally responsible if he left the crime scene mentally or physically scarred ever again.  
He takes a few deep breaths and leans against the wall behind him. Jack throws him a glance meaning "hey you okay?" and Will just waves his hand at him as if to say "yeah, gimme a second".  
His hands itch when he finally pulls the little dog from his pocket. He traces the shape with his fingers - the edges are smooth and they only leave a faint feeling on his fingertips after he's touched it, like a tactile afterimage on his skin. He sighs. For the span of a few more heartbeats, he stares down at the pendant, at his fingers playing with it; callused pale skin on bright green plastic - a surprisingly pleasant visual contrast.  
He stubbornly ignores the stares he gets from the newer members of the forensic team and tries not to decode their - obviously condescending - expressions and body language.  
"Jack, I'm ready now. I can tell you what happened."

In the passenger's seat in Jack's car, he still fidgets with the little toy, turns it over in his hands. His headache is fading slowly and his finger tickle comfortably. All through his body he feels heavy from exhaustion but not in a very unpleasant way, as if he just went for a long swim. Today hasn't been one of these days, fortunately.  
It faintly smells like perfume; he recognises it from the last time he saw Bella. The continuous humming of the engine makes for an almost pleasant background noise.   
"Would you mind taking me to Dr. Lecter?" Will asks at some point. The scenery behind the windows seems to be passing by just slowly.  
"That's where I'm taking you," Jack replies, "got yourself a new toy?" he seems relieved that Will looks to be quite well.  
Will chuckles.  
"Not exactly.  I've had it for a while. Hann- Dr. Lecter said that I shouldn't need to hide things that help me relax, especially at a crime scene. He's right. Like most of the time," he adds.  
"I hope none of the newbies were any trouble. I noticed some of them were giving you looks."  
"It's fine. I'm... Well, sorta used to it."

"Good evening, Will."   
Hannibal opens the door wearing a plain dark green suit, his white apron, and no tie. As usual, he greets him with a smile.  
"I hope I'm not interrupting. We were supposed to meet next week, I know, but I just happened to be at a crime scene and -"  
"Won't you come in, Will, please?"  
Will raises an eyebrow,   
"Oh, yes, sure. Thanks." Hannibal usually hates being interrupted, but he does do the interrupting quite often.  
"We can share dinner, " Hannibal offers,  
"I just cooked."  
"Oh I'm not hungry, Doctor Lecter."  
Will's stomach betrays him though, growling loudly.  
His psychiatrist grins,  
"Please. Have dinner with me."  
Will just nods, putting the dog back into his pocket.


	3. Humming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal takes Will to the opera and Will can't get Carmensita out of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally an update, praise the Lord! (it's starting to get gay, guys!)

The first time Hannibal takes him to the  opera, it goes surprisingly well. Will finds that he enjoys the music, the acting, and even the atmosphere of the grand surroundings of marble, gold and heavy red velvet.   
They watch Mozart's Zauberflöte.  
There's something about having Hannibal with him that helps him keep it together, even in crowded spaces. He guides him through the noise, and it allows Will to get lost in the music for once without worrying about anything else.

Actually, Will listens to classical music all the time - usually at Hannibal's place.(Hannibal owns an impressive collection of CDs and vinyls - large enough for Will to not have heard the same piece twice yet, at least) Hannibal often has music playing in the room when Will is there. More often than not, it actually calms him down.  
There have been a few instances where he woke up on the sofa in Hannibal's consulting room, having fallen asleep there after a session.   
His psychiatrist always makes sure he doesn't leave without at least a cup of caffeinated tea or coffee.

The second time, they go see Carmen.

"I'm not very familiar with French, uh, works," Will admits when they settle down in the hall. The lights are still on and the musicians have not yet begun to tune their instruments. They have a few minutes left before the performance starts.   
Will is shifting nervously in his seat, tapping his fingers against the arm rests. The fabric of his suit jacket feels very hot and heavy, and he feels sort of trapped in formal attire. Hannibal gives him a kind smile and gently pushes him back into his chair. Will immediately surrenders to Hannibal's touch.  
"It's alright, Will. Relax."  
Will hums quietly as a reply.  
"Did you know that Carmen was based on a French novella published in 1847?"  
As usual, Hannibal can easily recite facts like these, and Will is immediately glued to his lips. He shakes his head no.  
"The libretto - the lyrics, stage directions and words - is written in French entirely. Yet, the story takes place in Sevilla, which is in Spain. I find that particular fact quite funny, but it might just be me."  
Hannibal's low, mellow chuckle is slightly contagious, and Will finds himself relaxing even further, sinking back into the soft chair.  
"Yes, that's really...uhm, interesting."   
"Is it not?"  
Will puts his hand into his pocket to see if his dog keychain is still there (he periodically checks) and closes his fingers around the plastic. Finally he starts feeling comfortable.  
"The composer of this oeuvre was Georges Bizet."  
Before Hannibal can educate Will any further on the origins of the opera, the lights dim and the members of the orchestra begin to tune their instruments - granted, it is the least pleasant part of going to a perfomance.

 

"I know this piece," Will comments excitedly when a familiar aria begins, "isn't it called Habanera?"  
Carmen (or rather her actress and singer), in her blood red corset dress, is smoothly, yet provocatively, moving to the music on stage. Her voice is powerful, clear, and passionate. The strings accompany her singing voice and something akin to wooden bells (castanets, as Will learns afterwards) keeps up a steady rhythm along with her movements.  
Will seems fascinated.  
"Love is a rebellious bird, that no-one can tame, " Hannibal whispers beside him, and Will looks at him.  
"Are you translating?"  
Hannibal nods, and continues to softly mutter to him.  
"Nothing will work, praying or threatening, one will talk, the other won't. It is the other that I prefer - he hasn't said a word, but he pleases me." His psychiatrist's breath feels hot against his ear, his dark voice vibrates somewhere in his skull. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight.  
Will swallows.  
He's not entirely sure why.

He is still humming it when Hannibal takes him home in his car, and when he brushes his teeth that night.


End file.
